How can I truly be loving,
if I'm still uncovering myself?
Do I stand the test of time,
or do I fall beyond the wayside?
Listening all this time
becomes destructive in the end.
A voice spoken but left unheard.
A noise left out in the cold,
given no room to inhale.
Best left to harden, to
fall susceptible to those
who find it repulsive.
I can still be loving,
in its own way.
I can still show my love,
once the door opens again.
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